28 .(? GAtZDN En. REA ((That's t!J,e sort of t!J,zng I mean. In Russza, t!J,ey'd simply nalne a lVliss R!J,eing-oZd." . to pull the plug on the Boston end of the wire. Long-distance operators usually check up at intervals of thirty minutes on any protl acted call to make ure that both parties haven't dropped dead or gone fishing, but what with the heat and all there was a further slipup and the publisher's connection with Boston remained unbroken all night long. As soon as the telephone operator reached her switchboard at the publish- ing house the next morning, she got a hurried flash from a long-distance su- pervisor. "That's quite a cal1 you people are putting through to Boston," the supervisor said. "Seventeen hours so far." The girJ howled and snatched at the plug. "Now, now!" the supervIsor said. "It's all right. We've both made a Inistake. I just want to find out how long the call really lasted." "EIght or nine minutes," the girl said. "Let's make it five," said long distance. "Isn't the heat fierce?" Sports ^ LL thIs summer-and the summer before this for that matter-we have sympathized, from time to tIme, with the ladies who sit beside the gentle- . men in fast sports cars-theirs not to 1 eason why, etc. ..t\fter observing an incident on the Maine Turnpike last week, we are now inclined not only to sympathize with them but to love thein wIth all our heart and soul. The gentle- man in this case wore a beret, and he was zooming along at seventy Of so when a gust of sea ail blew the thing off. \Vhat did his lad) do? She flipped open the glove con1part111ent and handed hIm an- other beret, and he clapped it on his head without losing so much as a tenth of an m.p.h. 1"'rouper W E had lunch at the Lambe; Club one day last week with Owen Martin, a short, trÍ1n, sandy-haired, self-possessed, and extren1elv agreeable actor, who has the distinctIon of havIng appeared continuousl) in one company or another of "Oklahoma!" ever since the Rodgers and Hammerstein peren- nial opened at the St.. James Theatre on the night of March 31, 1943. It's some sort of theatrical employment record, all right, and Martin is justifiably proud of it "I love 'Oklahoma!,' " Martin told us. "God must have a piece of SEPTEMDER I .2 9 I 9 5 'Oklahoma!' There have been no fires onstage and no deaths onstage. Once In a while a piece of scenery may fall down somewhere out in the country, but it's minor." Mr. Martin is now nudging his five-thousandth performance in the musical. He spent five years at the St. J ames, and then he went on the road, and has been going ever SInce. As near- ly as he can figure it, he has travelled about sixty-five thousand miles in this countr-y, before taxes. In the City Cen- ter revival, he is playing Andrew Carnes, Ado Annie's daddy. He has been playing Carnes for the past two years; he orIginally appeared as Cord Elam, the federal InarshaJ, and once played thIrty weeks in New York as the peddler, Ali Hakim. He hasn't taken a vacation since 1 943. Once, back in 1944, he was about to go off on a hüli- day, but Ralph Riggs, who was then playing Carnes, took sick the day Martin planned to leave, and Martin jun1ped into his part. Soon thereafter, he was heading off again, hut this time Joseph Buloff, who was then sliding around the stage as Ali Hakim, fell ill, and once more Martin filled the breach. Martin got sick himself once, a couple of years ago, in \"'?ichita. While he was in his dressing room pu tting on his makeup, he suddenly felt hot all over. He called a doctor, who found that his tempera- ture was a hundred and three degrees, to1d him he had pneumonia, and put him to bed. Three days later, Martin hit the road, working his way for a week up to Minneapolis, where he agaIn felt hot an over. ..A. Minneapolis doctor t01d hun he hadn't recovered from the Wichita pneumonia, and put hIm to hed for two weeks. He rejoined the com- pany after that, and hasn't missed a per- forn1ance since. MartIn told us th...t the reception "Oklahon1a!" gets wherever it goes is phenon1enal. "People like It better the second and third time around," he said. "N uns come. It's the only play I've ever been in where nuns come." When the company turned up in Calgary, for a limited engagement, the S.R.O. sign was out in the lobby, and planeloads of Alaskans came down every nIght for the performances. Many of the theatres they played hadn't housed a legitimate production for fifteen years 01 more. "\Ve often follow wrestlers or basketball players in an auditorium, and do our dressing in the boiler rooln," Martin said. The company travels n10st- ly by train-soinetimes hy special train, to accommodate the tight schedules. "Why, one night we'll be in Tyler, Texas; the next night in Shreveport,